Of Needles and Shackles
by Tangle
Summary: After Lady Liberty and after Magneto, the X-Men have a new villain to face--Dr. Nathaniel Essex.
1. Chapter 1

Fiery, Flaming

By: Tangle

Disclaimer: Rights belong to Marvel and Fox

Summary: Cyclops makes a final decision, only to find that it's not always a final one.

Rating: PG-13

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Chapter 1

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Scott Summers was done with redheads. They had been a major factor in his life for as long as he could remember but they had never made it any easier. In fact, he had discovered, they were more trouble than they were worth. They had taught him his life lessons but he was sick of it. They had tormented him, taunted him, and teased him but now he was through. They had haunted him his whole life but no more. He was, quite simply, done.

In elementary school it had been his best friend Rhane. She had defined the word "tomboy" for him, all short strawberry hair and face full of freckles. She was a real rough and tumble type of girl, the kind whose eyes would sparkle as she socked him in the shoulder or elbowed him in the stomach or knocked him over for the hundredth time. To Rhane it was all in good fun but after long enough Scott stopped seeing it that way. She was his best friend and he loved her dearly but when it was only October and he was coming home with his fourth black eye of the year and he was running out of excuses for his parents, he started to recognize that something was wrong. But he was too young to realize that hitting her back wasn't the solution and her parents moved her away before he got the chance to apologize.

Then in junior high, Scott learned what hormones were when he fell in love with his teacher. Miss Ferguson tried to teach him math but--like every other boy in class--he was too busy mooning over her. She was beautiful, she was classy, she was perfect; with a long fall of hair an unbelievable shade of pink that she always kept swept gracefully away from her face and neck. Scott knew that he loved her more than any other boy in the class ever could and if she would only wait for him he would grow up and she would finally be his.

But he grew up and she didn't wait and he discovered, much to his surprise, that he didn't care. He had moved on and found someone else. Her name was Mary Jane and when he was a junior she was only a freshman, and he loved her anyway. She was a beautiful tease and she knew it, her waves of dark red hair as eye-catching as the rest of her. She and Scott dated on and off for over a year as he would pursue her and she would merrily lead chase. But as much as he wouldn't let himself admit it he knew she wasn't happy. "If you love something, you have to let it go," he had reminded himself on the eve of his graduation when he finally broke it off with her for good.

And then he came to Xavier's, where he had finally found the woman he had considered the love of his life. Jean Grey, a brilliant genetic mind with a brilliant body and brilliant red hair to match. He had loved her, he had chased her, and he had caught her--down to the diamond ring on her finger. But she had done something he never would have expected, not in a thousand years. One morning he woke up to find a note on the pillow beside his own. Jean had run away with Ororo, and become the third redhead to break his heart. That was when Scott had decided that he was through with them. That he would stay away from the redheads that had caused him so much pain and grief through the years. Once and for all, he was done.

Until he opened the door on Theresa Cassidy.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

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Now for Scott Summers, seeing red had become a way of life. He was fourteen years old when he first came into his powers and he never once used them. He never found a purpose to. Then, when he was eighteen and headed off to college, his plane crashed halfway there. One of the few survivors, Scott suffered irreparable brain damage that left him completely unable to control those powers. As his parents reread to him the previously shunned application offer to an Xavier Institute, he changed his mind. Anyplace that could help him see again was perfectly fine in his book.

However, wishes aren't always granted exactly as hoped. He did indeed see again, but only with the aid of a special substance called ruby quartz. He had glasses made to keep his eye-beams at bay on a regular basis, and then a visor for moments of more precise control. The drawback was that the material cast a dark red hue over anything and everything he looked at. Green grass turned brown, yellow curtains were dark orange. Purple was maroon, blue was purple, white was pink, and orange was nearly crimson. Only black retained its original hue. He was accustomed to reverting the colors back to their original state in his mind.

But red was unbelievable. It was the brightest color he could see, and the clearest. It shone vibrantly against a dull background and became the light in his life. Scott suspected that was part of the reason he had fallen so hard for Jean--her hair intrigued him more than he could have ever possibly imagined. To him it was gorgeous beyond comparison. It was brilliant, it was beautiful, and it never failed to stop his heart every time he saw it. There was nothing in the world he liked more than just stopping and staring and running his fingers through her magnificent hair.

And now she was gone. It had been sixteen days since that morning he remembered with frightening clarity. Perhaps only because it was so recent, but he could picture it all like nothing else in his mind. Waking up slowly and reaching across the bed to find a cooling indent where he had expected warmth. Putting on his glasses and scrambling to sit up as he finally noticed the note left in her place. "My dearest Scott," it read. "I don't know how, I don't know why but I have to leave you. Ororo and I will be gone from the mansion for a long while, if not forever. Just remember, I would have only broken your heart in the end. It's better this way. Love, Jean."

Whether or no she admitted it to herself, Jean had broken his heart. She had torn it from his chest and ripped it in two and cackled maniacally as she stomped it to pieces. Maybe not cackled maniacally--though that was how he desperately wanted to picture her doing it--but for over two weeks she had killed any emotion in him. Now he himself played hookey, cutting the classes he was supposed to teach and giving his students the days off as he holed himself away. It took him six days to come downstairs, almost another week to resume classes, but he was far from back to normal. He was spending his free period in the rec room, flipping through old photo albums, when the doorbell rang that Monday morning.

It was nothing new. What had kept him on his toes the most in the past few days was meeting, greeting, and generally getting to know the slew of new people that had poured through their doors. Three of their number had returned from vacation: fellow teacher and teammate Kurt Wagner, doctor and friend Hank McCoy, and student and resident shapeshifter Sydney Jones. New to their haven were several people, some teachers, some faculty, most students--and he was still trying to get their names straight.

The student body welcomed three into their ranks. First was a British girl, a fifteen-year old blonde by the name of Betsy Braddock. She came from a very well-established family in England and had two mutant brothers, neither one of whom accompanied her to the school. Supposedly, though Scott had yet to see in her action, she was a brutal telepath. The battering ram to the professor's light dagger.

A few days later arrived a boy not more than a year older, Jason Wyngarde. Another telepath but one who focused on implanting ideas rather than taking or obliterating them. However, he did not have his image inducing power under any semblance of control and until Xavier put a block on his abilities, mansion residents would be scared silly when something they thought they were seeing suddenly disappeared. Despite his scarred looks and intense personality, he had quickly made friends and was more often than not seen with Angelo Espinosa and Robert DeCosta.

The final addition to the student population was a shy, introverted girl at the tender age of twelve who called herself Lorna Dane. Surprisingly enough, she was the one of the three with the most control over her powers but that control had been self-taught out of necessity to keep from becoming the human magnet. Her parents had dropped her off the day before and left without a word, obviously ashamed of their daughter's mutancy and startingly green curls but not so uncaring that they would leave her on her own.

The staff had added two more people to their numbers, something they desperately needed to keep up with the ever-increasing amount of students. One was now slotted to teach some of the more basic math and elementary sciences. Calvin Rankin was best at dealing with younger children--something the rest of the staff was incredibly grateful for. His own mutant ability, that of copying powers by close proximity, was also helpful. Its similarity to Rogue's could assist in the teen's learning to control her own powers.

The second was a young woman, very intelligent and straight out of medical school. Because Hank loved his research too much to be the best practical doctor, Cecilia Reyes--and her degree in trauma surgery--was the answers to their prayers. It had also been suggested that she start up a Spanish program for any students who might be interested. The force field that was her mutant power was very useful as well. If any energy powers were to go haywire, Cecilia could effectively cage them down.

Scott himself wasn't too sure on who to trust and who to not. The professor had done surface mind-scans on them all but as his ethics would not allow him to dig deeper the possibility of a traitor in their midst was not one Scott could easily ignore. He was cordial to all five people but not quite friendly. That would come when he knew them better. With the sudden incoming of both mutants and mutant publicity, his paranoia level was as high as it got.

Still, he wasn't surprised to hear someone else new come to the door. Putting the photo album aside he got to his feet and made his way across the room to the main hall. He had installed a security system to hopefully keep any of the bad guys from being able to just waltz up to the front door and therefor their guest stood outside the front gate near the road. Whoever it was had called in on the intercom system, just like the instructions said. Scott pushed the reply button and leaned into the speaker. "Xavier Institute," he answered, sounding like he was picking up a telephone. "How may I help you?"

The response was full of static at best. "Aye," came the voice with an indiscernible. "I was told that this was a place for the genetically gifted?"

Well that was pretty up-front. Scott shrugged to himself and smiled inwardly at the speaker's odd choice of terms. From what he could see, the figure at the other end of the lawn was alone. "You've found it. Wait just a moment and I'll open the gate." It took a few minutes for the newest of the new to make their way up the walk, but when they arrived and knocked he was there to open the door.

In only a few seconds, Scott had taken in completely the woman standing on the stoop. She was tall, very tall for a woman, and quite slender. Her clothes were casual, neither sloppy nor overdone and her choice of jeans and shirt complimented her nicely. She had a broad smile across her face, almost to the point of being considered cheeky, and her green eyes sparkled wildly. It was her hair, however, that caught Scott's attention the most. Waves upon waves of red fire cascaded across her shoulders, like the flame that Jean's had always almost been.

The moment he caught himself comparing her to Jean, Scott stopped himself. "And you are?" he asked abruptly, unintentionally rude.

Her smile only widened. "Theresa Cassidy," she informed in a thick Irish accent he hadn't been able to place over the intercom. "Me dad, Sean Cassidy, he sent me over. Said he was an old friend of your professor and I was to help out as much as I could."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

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The poor girl had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when there was another sound coming up the drive--that of a motor. Scott wondered briefly if he had forgotten to lock the gates again but knew he hadn't. Whoever it was obviously had a key or code or both. The sound came closer very quickly and it didn't take long at all for him to identify the person revving their motorcycle up the drive. '_Their motorcycle',_ Scott scoffed, _More like mine._

Logan came roaring towards the house, slamming on the breaks at the last possible moment that would bring him to a screeching halt directly in front of the doorstep. He sprayed a surprisingly small amount of dirt on Scott and Theresa, but Scott had no doubt in his mind that had he been alone he would now be filthy. Logan smirked that shit-eating smirk of his as he swung one leg off the bike and brushed dust from his jacket. Without ever breaking Scott's gaze, he tossed him the key.

And without ever breaking Logan's, Scott caught it.

The darker man made some noise Scott couldn't identify, something between a growl and a laugh. "Long time, no see Scottertron."

Scott's smile was as cold and unfeeling as a polite smile could be. "The same, Wolvie." He smirked as he used the nickname a few mansion girls had given the long-gone feral. Jubilee had a way of giving adults the most condescending names to turn them into the big softies she could easily deal with. The look on Logan's face made Scott for once grateful.

"I'm here to see Chuck," Logan said with a bit more than annoyance in his voice.

"Well, that's exactly where Theresa and I were headed," Scott replied. He knew he shouldn't be the juvenile but it was just so much fun! He hadn't goaded anyone like this since elementary school. Now he turned away from the door and from Logan, expecting both him and Theresa to follow him to the professor's office. "So what brings you back to our humble abode?" he asked.

There was really no way to describe the odd mix of emotions on Logan's face when he first spoke. "Something needs to be sorted out," he answered first. Then his mouth twisted up into an all-out smirk. "And take a few things with me."

Scott knew exactly what--or who--he was alluding to. Almost any other time he would have given anything to be the one to tell Logan that Jean had run off and then see his reaction, but not right now. Right now it was all too recent, too raw. Much too raw to properly deal with. "Jean's not here," he told him instead. "You missed her by about two weeks."

To his credit, Logan could cover up pretty well. "Who said I came back for Red?" he asked, "I have some dog tags to collect."

Once again, Scott knew exactly what he was talking about. Not many people would have, but he did. After Logan had been gone for two months without any word back to the mansion, Rogue had been terrified that something had happened to him. She had hid it very well, with only Jean and the professor ever figuring it out, but one weekend when most of the students had gone out for a break she had finally broken down. Scott had been the only one there she trusted enough to talk to, and talk to him she did. They had spent almost three hours in the rec room while she told him everything. About her months on the road, about meeting up with Logan, about arriving at the mansion and being driven off again. How she felt on top of the Statue of Liberty and then when Logan left and gave her the dog tags. About how so much of the school treated her like a freak even though she was no more mutated than they. How they didn't trust her enough to even be in the same room as her if she wasn't fully covered. She even told him her name, something Logan was the only other person to know. Scott only called her Marie when there was no one around as she was Rogue to everyone else.

But none of this did Scott tell Logan. He kept it all to himself and was silent the rest of the way to the professor's office, where he knocked politely on the door before entering. It was an old formality that he had never gotten rid of; with the professor's powers there was no need for advance warning. "Here we are," he said, more for Theresa's benefit than for Logan's. 

"Thank ye," she said courteously as he opened the door to allow the three of them inside.

Professor Xavier greeted them all with a smile. "Hello, Scott. Welcome, Theresa. Your father has told me much about you. And Logan, welcome back. I trust you found what you were looking for?"

Scott could almost picture Logan's train of thought and it went something like: _There's someone I don't know in the room. Do I care? No._ "Not exactly, Charlie. The place was there and most of the records were basically abandoned and untouched. Mine were gone and the whole thing smelled like recent Sabretooth."

Well, whatever Scott was expecting that certainly wasn't it, but he didn't let his surprise show. "Sir?" he asked. "With your permission, I'd like to investigate Sabretooth's whereabouts in more depth." The professor had to know who Scott wanted to talk it. It was painfully obvious and practically projected to any telepath in the area. He had to know.

And that he did. "I might be better if I handle this myself, Scott."

But he wasn't going to back down that easily. "No, sir. I'd like to do this. After all, I am your assistant-" no use saying 'field-leader' in front of a stranger, "-and not your figure head."

Neither the professor or Logan looked very happy, the former because he knew he had to give in and the latter because he had no say. As soon as Scott spoke, they both wanted input. Xavier was the first to complete his thought. "As you wish," he said with a sigh. "I suppose. If you have to."

"Wait a minute," Logan interjected. "You can't mean that you're going to let Scooter handle this? This is my business."

"Your business that you cannot assist it," Scott told him coolly. "You would only be working against yourself." And with that, he began to make his way out the door. "Good to see you again, Logan. It was lovely to meet you Theresa. And thank you, professor. I will be leaving momentarily."

Having excused himself he moved towards the garage. What he really needed right now was a joy ride, and there was no harm in taking that before he settled down to business. With all that was going on, he needed to unwind a bit before he exploded. An exploding Scott, he decided, would not be the best thing for the mansion.


	4. Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

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Okay, fun was over and down to business it was. Almost apprehensively, he made his way to his destination. Scott now spent his time mulling over things. _What was that Jubilee once said?_ he asked himself. _Oh yeah. 'Are you sure? I mean, this is the big M and all.'_ It was how he felt, after all. He was going to meet a man he had never spoken two civil words to. The last time he had seen this man, he had shot him off the top of a statue. Of course he was going to be nervous.

Wasn't every day he went to see Magneto.

Scott sighed. It was time to quit pussyfooting around. He parked his car in the visitor's section of the facility and strode quickly to the front door, praying that the professor's advice would pay off. He would need it if he was going to get past the security checkpoint at the front door where the guards were sure to stop him.

Of course they did. "Can we help you?" one asked, more than skeptical about the ruby glasses. Scott had opted for the glasses over the visor. Imposing, but not a dead give-away as to who he was. If he had worn the visor there would be 'X-Men' sighting reports all over the tabloids. Probably would try to connect him to an attempted Magneto-escape. Yes, definitely a very good thing he had not worn the visor.

However, now was the time to pull out the professor's status. "Yes. I'm here for Charles Xavier. I wish to speak with Erik Lehnsherr."

The other guard snorted his laughter. "Maximum security level with just a name? Yeah, right buddy. I'm going to need identification and proof you're here for who you say you're here for. And that's just the start."

__

Well, at least we're not stuck with imbeciles guarding the country's most feared terrorist, he assured himself as he presented him with the papers they wanted. Xavier had given him and Jean several forms that would get them each into almost any mutant-related facility they wished but Scott had rarely used them. Now, however, he pulled that trump card. Although they were obviously still suspicious of him--as they probably were of everyone--the guards let him pass. That was one station behind him. Now was the point where he could really start getting nervous.

The next security stop was much more thorough. Here sat one of the few mutant government employees. She was a young woman of considerable telepathic skill who was somehow also very well trusted, a rare feat for a mutant. Her cool blue eyes leveled him as her voice echoed in his ears, telling him to remain calm. Scott had no problem with this, he had experienced telepathic intrusion before and gave her the information she needed while discretely blocking the rest. She relayed what she found back to the guard standing behind her and Scott was clear to pass. She spoke verbally to him and mentally to the guards, not wanting him to know she was a mutant. Scott was fine with that--after all, he had been keeping the same information from her. 

The following and final security checkpoint was for his own safety. He was to walk through a metal detector, one fine tuned enough to tell if he so much as had a filling in his mouth that was too large. Once again, Scott was grateful for wearing his glasses. No metal in those, none at all. Besides, he had made sure to remove anything metal he might have been wearing before he got out of the car. Scott knew exactly who he was going to be dealing with and chose to not take any chances.

When he finally got to the cell itself he found it utterly amazing. An entire prison made out of plastic. Forcing himself not to gape he followed the final guard through an expanding plastic tunnel and into the cell that held Magneto himself. It was a neat and tidy place, if a bit small, but it was obvious that Erik was keeping it as clean as he could. The older man wore solid white, an ensemble that made his hair look like a glowing halo surrounding his head. Well, it would have if Scott's glasses didn't dye it all pink. To him it was in fact rather humorous.

If Erik had been the type of man to smirk, he would have done so now. But he was not so instead he simply offered Scott a seat at the opposite side of his chess table while he himself sat down. "Welcome," he greeted him. "Yours is a face I am not used to seeing around these parts." He gestured to the board between them. "Do you play?"

Scott was hesitant to do anything but proper decorum and common knowledge told him that if he wanted to get any information out of the man he needed to be first of all polite. He took the seat that was offered to him and accepted the suggestion for chess. Two mind battles at the same time could bear interesting results. "I actually came to talk about a few old business associates of yours," he said, waiting for his host to make the first move on the board.

Which he did--one pawn, forward one square. "I am afraid that I do not know much about their recent whereabouts." Erik smiled. "Information about any former employees of mine does not filter well through this place."

"But perhaps you could tell me if and how Victor Creed survived his fall?" Scott had seen it happen himself. He had seen it when Logan, finally victorious, had knocked his opponent from the top of the Statue of Liberty. Not something the X-Men would really have liked him to do, but something that was done nonetheless. Couldn't very well change the past, could you?

Now Erik's smile broadened. "Tell me Scott," he said, finally referring to him by name. "Did you bring every member of your team with you that night?"

Scott was silent a few moments as he thought it over. Erik was right. He hadn't taken everyone, had he? Kurt and Hank, out of town as they were, could have been called at a moments notice but he hadn't brought them along. He could have, but he didn't because he didn't want to show all his strength all at once so it stood to reason that . . . "You didn't bring everyone with you."

"I'll leave that for you to decide," Erik replied as the chess game moved forward, then continued on to change the subject. "So tell me, how is Charles doing these days?"

Without commenting on the shift in topic Scott answered honestly. It was the least he could do in return for the information he had gleaned. "He's doing very well, for a man of his age," Scott told him. "That trick of Mystique's aside, I'd say he's never been better." A thinly-veiled strike against the old man, one that slipped before he realized what he had said. He didn't regret saying it but it probably would have been better had it not been done.

Erik did not seem disturbed by it. Instead, he seemed saddened. "I told Mystique to take care of him, what she did I did not expect. However, she was my under my jurisdiction at the time and, as I am responsible for her actions, I am sorry that I hurt my old friend."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Scott asked, trying to hide his amazement. He expected to get back something like 'why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth'.

But that was no what he got. "I could ask the same of you," Erik told him with the slightest hint of a smile. He looked back down at the chessboard that lay between them. The strategy game had progressed much more quickly than those of the mind and Scott noticed how many of his pieces had disappeared from the board. Erik moved one last figure. "That, my young Mr. Summers," he said with a bit of humor in his voice, "Is checkmate. You might want to talk to Charles about improving your technique."

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AN: I am loved! Big hug to all my reviewers. *hugs*

Jalla- Thank you! It's good to know he's not completely OOC.

SAR- Glad you like it.

Lamashtar- Well, the first chapter had to be introspective, so you would know where he's coming from. The third chapter, well, I checked it over for grammatical errors and I couldn't find any, but then again I always did fail grammar. Glad you liked Chapter 2, though. And please keep reading, constructive criticism is always a big help.

Annie- Aw, I like your RPing too! And you think I'm creative? Wow. You're one of the few. Thanks for the kudos, and wonderful job on your story too.


	5. Chapter 5

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Chapter 5

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On his drive home, Scott kept rolling the conversation he had just had over and over in his mind, trying to dissect it to glean as much information as possible. There wasn't much more in the inner-workings of the conversation than there was at face-value and all he could discern from it was that the Brotherhood had been made up of more than just three people and a leader and that somehow that had saved Sabretooth's life.

Was this person a healer? Couldn't be. Victor was tossed off a building. There wouldn't be enough pieces to put back together

A teleporter? Not unless they had grabbed him at the start of his fall. The momentum would have killed him anyway.

Gravity powers? There was a possibility. Scott had heard of such powers before, and that was the only solution to his problem he could think of. If this savior had such finely tuned gravity powers that he was able to focus them on one person--Sabretooth--that could have slowed his fall enough to save his life. There was no other solution Scott could come up with. Gravity powers it was.

"Cyclops!"

Scott jammed a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his communicator. "Here."

Hank's voice continued. "Sabretooth has begun a brawl in Salem Center. We are going to take him down."

"Check. Where?"

"Harry's, if you would believe it."

"Gotcha. Did you remember it?"

"Did I remember it? Of course I did, fearless leader. I invented it!"

Scott grinned as he donned the visor he kept in the armrest of his car. "Just checking. On my way."

It seemed he got there not much after the rest of the self-proclaimed X-Men. Not really self-proclaimed, per say, it was a name given to them by the few students that knew about what went on in the sub-basement floors of the Xavier Institute. They weren't completely positive about which student had first come up with the name, but Scott had his bets on Bobby or Jubilee. Or both.

He brought the car to a screeching halt and stepped out, switching his glasses in favor of his visor. He had much more control that way. With a quick look around Scott assessed the situation. If anyone had called the police they had yet to arrive, and that way made it easiest. No authorities to deal with meant no authorities to answer to. Cecilia was not among the team assembled--that meant the Blackbird was still in the air and she would help from her position above them. Good. Always nice to have the highest position.

Looking over, Scott caught Hank's eye and nodded as he stepped to the front of their group. Right now someone with targeting powers would be very helpful, but Hank's muscle control made him the best for the job at hand. Everyone else was there for backup. "Okay people, fan out," Cyclops ordered. "Code-names only until we get back. How many people are inside?"

Calvin--Mimic--came up to stand beside him, using his mental powers borrowed from the professor to do a quick sweep in the building. Nothing too powerful, he wasn't that good a psychic. Cyclops saw the beginnings of Cecilia's force-field flicker up around the blond man. Cecilia was not a member of the field team, she preferred to keep to the air and assist when necessary. She had been given they psychic equivalent of a two-year, jet-flying course before anyone would let her take the helm. "Eight, nine, ten, no twelve. Eleven--eleven patrons and Sabretooth makes twelve," he announced.

Cyclops nodded. "Nightcrawler. 'Port in and out as fast as you can, bring as many people back as you can carry. Beast, take the north window. I'll be at the east to peg him if necessary. Mimic, you've got the brunt work. Just get him with his back to Beast and we're good." Mimic had copied the powers of not only Beast, but the young Piotr Rasputin as well, giving him almost unimaginable strength. If he couldn't take down Sabretooth for just the bit that was necessary, no one could. _Someone like Remy would be perfect for this mission_, Cyclops realized, _Part of his mutation is that tracking ability. He's got to have excellent marksmanship. Too young though, maybe in a few years we can snag him._

"Okay team, three, two, one." Each number was counted off on his fingers and when he reached one he snapped and pointed, signaling everyone to their positions. A puff of smoke indicated Nightcrawler's departure. Cyclops and Hank sneaked around the back of the building, each taking a separate window. Out of the corner of his eye Cyclops saw Hank take an unobtrusive aim, just waiting for the right moment. It was soon to come.

Mimic took the shortest route--straight through the door. Sabretooth was coming out of a bloodied rage to see a blue-furred demon taking off with his so-thought hostages and a big man made of steel come barging in the door. "I don't know who the fuck you are," he snarled, never having seen either Nightcrawler or Mimic, "But you had better leave before I smash your head in."

The once-blond snorted his laughter. "Try me, kitty cat," he tossed back, readying himself for the imminent onslaught of fur.

It came barreling towards him at once, screaming at top of its lungs. There was a clash of silver metal and golden fur as the two of them grappled for the upper hand. It was a toss-up of who would win, but Mimic wasn't looking to win. He was looking to twist the bigger man so Beast could get a clear shot. In strength they were evenly matched, but Mimic's reluctance to resort to murder to win was his downfall. It made him hold back some--just a little, but some--and that bit was what counted.

Before anything disastrous could happen, Cyclops took aim and let loose with a quick blast to Sabretooth's open hide. The feral roared, now taking extreme notice of the man at the window and, as he turned to charge, Beast fired.

He did not miss. The shot struck him just as it should and buried itself somewhere in his side, almost under his arm. For a few moments Sabretooth paused, blinked a couple of times, and then collapsed to the floor causing it to tremble for the briefest of seconds. Cyclops allowed himself a small smile. It had worked. They had finally taken down the mighty Sabretooth.

"Mister Creed!"

Beast's reflexes were too well honed for his own good. The instant a voice hit his ears--a voice not on his side--and an alien smell came to his nose, he twisted and fired once more. It took him less than a second to regret his actions. There was enough serum in the tranquilizer dart to knock out three elephants and more than enough to kill a normal human a being or anyone without a serious healing factor. They all watched in seeming slow motion as it now made its way towards the under-sized girl they noticed standing by the wall. Her solid white eyes went wide with dismay and she paled under her lavender skin, and then in a flicker of pink was gone.

The dart passed harmlessly through open air and embedded itself in the wall.

Cyclops allowed himself a few seconds to collect and calm down before going back to business. He pulled his com from his belt and brought it up to his mouth. "Cece, lower the 'Bird and be prepared with as many sedatives as we loaded. We're gonna need them--Sabretooth is in the bag." An "Ay, ay" echoed back across the link to him and he shut it down, then turned back to his troops. "Nightcrawler, as soon as Cece gets the jet low enough, I want you to get Sabretooth up there. It won't be too far a jump. Beast, good shot, exactly as planned. We'll worry about the girl once we make sure we've got our cargo under control. Mimic," he gave the other man a brief pat on the shoulder. "Nice job there." As everything was going on around him, he remembered something. Something that had been bothering in.

"Where's Wolverine?"

~~~

Buckwolf- Good guess, my friend. That was Emma. Anyway, Magsy and Scottertron are done talking now, I've just introduced a whole new kettle of fish. Hope you enjoy. 


	6. Chapter 6

~~~

Chapter 6

~~~

"Wolverine? You mean tall, dark, and hairy?" Cyclops whirled around to see the Blackbird landed with the main double doors wide open and Cecilia smirking at him. Seemed the impromptu flying lessons had done her good. "He's back at the mansion--Xavier's office. Come on." She ushered them all inside and, once the doors were securely shut, lifted off. "The professor knew he'd go nuts if he saw Creed here--safely sedated, by the way," she assured the worried-looking Cyclops as she explained. "So Xavier gave him some sort of telepathic tranquilizer before he sent us on our merry way." With a bit of a sigh Cecilia flipped the autopilot on and sank back in her seat. "That went smoothly," she observed after a few minutes of silence.

The team nodded. Well, Scott and Kurt nodded. Hank was still kicking himself for nearly killing that girl--Scott could have sworn he saw a comforting smile pass from Cecilia to him and wondered what was up--and Calvin had elected to drive the car home. "As smooth as any Sabretooth take-down could be," Scott replied. "Hank." The big, blue man looked up. "You know the records better than I do. Did you recognize--"

"No," Hank cut him off. "Hers was a visage that had not yet graced my presence."

That settled that. "For a while we all need to be on the look out for her, then. We don't know who she is or where she is but my bet is that she's going to be coming back for Creed." Scott doubted mansion security could work too well against a teleporter but he would do as much as he could to protect the students and the team. An avenging protegee was one of the most dangerous enemies possible--particularly if their mentor was someone like Victor Creed.

The ride back to the mansion was blessedly uneventful. Cecilia didn't even have to manually land the plane--the autopilot took care of even that. They maneuvered successfully into the hanger and everyone unloaded. Hank and Cecilia wheeled Sabretooth into the medical bay where they could keep a good eye on him until he woke up into a--hopefully--subdued state. Kurt had a class to prepare for so he quite literally disappeared back to his quarters to do so. Scott himself tracked back to Xavier's office both to report in and see how the latest mansion additions were doing. And to wait for Calvin to get back, but he would be returning any minute now.

The professor was engaged in a deep conversation with Theresa Cassidy when Scott arrived at the door. Not wanting to interrupt he waited patiently out in the hall but less than a minute later he heard the quiet voice in his head telling him to come right in, they weren't talking about anything important anyway. So he opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Good afternoon, Professor. Hello again, Miss Cassidy. Just wanted to let you know we're back and everything's fine.

Charles smiled softly. "Scott, you do not need to hide any of this from Theresa. She'll be joining us as a member of both the staff and the team. We've needed an art teacher for quite some time now, remember? And a flier as well I believe." Scott managed a nod. "Theresa, this is Scott Summers--the assistant headmaster of this school and our field leader when necessary. You will be able to meet the rest of our faculty in time. Now Scott, sit down and tell me exactly what happened." This was not completely necessary of course as the professor could dig through his mind for the information much more quickly but Charles' ethics prevented him from ever doing this to anyone.

And so Scott did so. "Not a whole lot to report, sir," he admitted. "Sabretooth is safely sedated in the med lab and when he awakens he should remain calm--Hank and Cecilia are taking care of that." Brute force and defense should be enough to take care of Creed, especially a heavily tranquilized Creed. "But apparently he had someone working with him that we had no idea about--a young girl, a teleporter. None of us recognized her. I'm going to alert the mansion to keep an eye out for her, just in case she come to get him back."

"She will," Xavier assured him. Scott looked oddly confused so he elaborated. "Erik has mentioned her before, in passing conversation. Her name is Clarice, I got no last name to go with that. She's been working with Victor since before she really understood what he did for a living and now that she does know she doesn't really care. She and Victor are like family and there is no way she is going to leave him here with people she now considers enemies. Trust me on that."

Scott closed his eyes, an action invisible under his visor. Visor--he was still wearing it. Needed to change into his glasses soon. "I'll have people keep a look out for her, try to stop her when she does show up. We need to be able to question Creed before he's broken out. Okay." He paused to take a breath. "Thank you for that information, sir." Scott stood, preparing to leave.

"Scott?" the professor called. "Would you do me a favor? Show Theresa around?"

Scott glanced at the pretty young woman who had turned to look up at him. Theresa was smiling, a smile with an indistinguishable emotion behind it but one that was clearly a cross between an apologetic grin and a smirk. And consisted much more of the latter. Scott managed to smile back at her. "I can do that. Shall we?" Theresa stood and, after saying good-bye to the professor, followed him out of the room. "So," he said to her once they stood in the hallway. "Any room in particular you'd like to see?"

"Aye," she admitted. "Yuir cafeteria, if you dinnae mind. Haven't eaten since breakfast."

~~~ In the Next Two Hours ~~~

They had started at the cafeteria and had a very late lunch--Scott hadn't eaten in a while either. Some of the students seemed amazed to see their recluse of a math teacher venturing out in the open again. Then they toured the upper floors; third, then second. The top floor was faculty only. Xavier had his suite at the end of the hall, away from as many minds as possible. The other suite was empty as Scott had moved into a single room when Jean left. Kurt, Hank, and Calvin also had rooms on that same floor, giving it the nickname 'Bachelors' Pad'. Cecilia lived on the second floor, with the students. As she was the first of the new faculty to arrive she should have gotten a third-floor room but they needed a woman to take Ororo's spot as female chaperone with the kids. When Calvin got there he became the other teacher on that floor, but got a new room when Logan took his place as "lowest on the pecking order". Unless Cecilia didn't want to move all her stuff, Theresa would probably be getting the other woman's room on the second floor while Cece moved to the empty one upstairs. The third floor housed a small faculty lounge with a television, couches, a computer, and even a small refrigerator--just a place to relax. There was also an attic that led onto the roof, but that was mainly used as a greenhouse where Ororo kept her plants. On the second floor, students were two or three to a room with girls on one end of the hall, boys on the other, and the staff rooms right there in the center.

The first floor was a little more complex. Next to the cafeteria was a big kitchen where all meals were prepared and beside that was another small room, one with a fridge and a microwave where the staff could cook their own meals in peace, or jut hang out on occasions. Down the hall was a break room with another television and a foosball table, a few more computers, and three big bay windows. The rest of the computers lived either in the many faculty offices--there was one for Charles, one for Scott, one for Kurt, and one for Calvin, but there was an empty room Theresa could use if she wanted--or lived in the library, along with shelves upon shelves of books. The rest of the first floor was made up of a maze of halls, bathrooms, stairwells, and the elevator.

The elevator, mainly installed for the professor, ran from the third floor all the way down to the basement. The basement was the most interesting part of the entire mansion. "I'm sure the professor told you about the X-Men, and our operations." He had. "We work out of the basement areas here as they're restricted to everyone but the team, and a few of the older students. Down here we've got our training rooms, our hanger bay, our meeting rooms, and the medical laboratory. Hank's domain--well, Hank and Cecilia's domain. They should be down here." Scott beckoned for Theresa to follow him as he made his way to the closed doors of the med lab. "Hank is an old friend of mine; really nice guy, kind of hard to miss. Cecilia got here about two weeks ago, so I don't know her very well. Hank knows her best."

__

Oh wow. Definitely knows her best. Scott didn't know quite what to think, much less say, when he opened the med lab doors to find Hank and Cecilia pretty much sitting in the same chair. Sitting in the same chair with their arms wrapped around each other and both lab coats on the floor--though those were the only discarded articles of clothing so far--and . . . _Oh wow. Definitely unexpected. _But while Scott was struck speechless Theresa had no such impediment.

"Don't mind us."

Cecilia and Hank both sat up with a start, quickly disentangling themselves and each looking like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Scott was still trying to sort things out in his head, trying to see just how those two personalities had meshed in the first place. Hank was an exuberant, giddy research scientist with a penchant for Twinkies and big words. Cecilia was, well, sarcastic and cynical. A realist, she called herself--with a pessimistic streak a mile wide, everyone else added. He just couldn't see how such radically different personality types worked so well together. It had to be more than just the age-old cliché of "opposites attract". Maybe Cecilia's attitude was just a front, that was always a possibility. God knows it was something he had tried several times. But wait, Hank was saying something.

Of the two, Hank was the first to regain his composure. Cecilia was still blushing to the roots of her hair. "My apologies, I did not realize anyone would be venturing to my humble abode."

Abode it was, but humble it most certainly was not. The medical bay was packed wall to wall with state-of-the-art technology and some of the most highly advanced research on the planet. As always, Hank was being modest about the fact that he had invented a good portion of it himself. "No need to excuse yourself, Hank." Scott finally managed to spit something out. "We're all adults. However, had we been some of the kids coming through the door . . . you two would be subject to some wild rumors, at least." He smirked to let them know he was kidding. Well, half-kidding. Even though they were only kidding, teenagers would take any story and expound on it to their hearts' content. "I was just showing Miss Cassidy around the mansion. Hank, you may remember her father Sean. Miss Cassidy, these are Doctors Henry McCoy and Cecilia Reyes."

"I remember your father fondly," Hank told her as he warmly shook her hand. "And my first name is indeed Henry but most do call me Hank."

"Cecilia," the other doctor introduced herself. "And unlike the resident fur-ball, I did not know your father."

The redhead grinned. "Call me Terry, or Theresa if you must. 'Miss Cassidy' is too old for me."

Both doctors returned the smile, and once again Hank was the first to speak. He turned back to Scott, his comments obviously directed towards the man in the glasses. "Am I correct in my assumption that your journey had other reasons behind it than just to startle the lovely lady and myself?" he asked, his tone joking and now growing serious. "If you wish to speak to the latest addition to the infirmary, first allow me to revive him. His is fast asleep but I am only administering enough sedative to keep him on the brink of consciousness so it will not take long for me to bring him around."

"In short," Cecilia translated for a very confused Theresa. "Sabretooth's out of it, but we're feeding him just enough sleeping pills to keep him under. He can be up in a minute or five."

Theresa nodded slowly. "Ah."

Scott nodded as well, but for another reason. "We don't want him loose, just awake."

"Understood, mon capitan," Hank replied with a mock salute as he motioned for the other three to follow him into a separate room. This room was divided by a pane of unbreakable glass somewhere around the one third mark, leaving the larger portion beyond their reach. Behind the glass lay a soundly sleeping Victor Creed, some of his blond hair falling over his mouth and nose and fluttering with every breath he took. Terry stifled a giggle--the man they had all been so worried about, scared of even, was sleeping like a baby. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dr. McCoy move to some controls that had to be hooked into the IVs feeding directly into Victor's prone body. A dial was turned, a button pushed, and they all sat back to wait for him to wake up. Hank looked from Cecilia to Theresa to Scott and asked, "Do you wish for us to vacate the room, so as you may converse with him alone?"

Scott shook his head in response. "Power in numbers. He wakes up to see four he's going to be more subdued than if he wakes up to one." And so they stayed.

Cecilia's estimate of "a minute or five" was more correct than she had expected. At four minutes and thirty-seven seconds--according to a digital timer--creed began to twitch. Moved a hand, then an arm, then opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He focused on the one familiar figure among the four and immediately understood what had happened and where he was. He bared his teeth and gave a half-hearted growl. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Scott took over the questioning. "Where is who?"

"You know who I'm talking about. What did you do to her?" He was eyeing a slightly guilty-looking Hank. The doctor had always been a terrible liar.

"That I do," Scott admitted with a bit of a smirk. "And I must say, you did a very good job of training her. Very quick little thing she is." Scott couldn't help but see how proud Creed looked. "But we aren't here to discuss Clarice. You went through Wolverine's files. Why?"

Creed glared, baring his teeth once again. "You self-centered fucks," he hissed, the speakers that let them communicate barely picking it up. He was becoming more and more alert so Hank manipulated a few controls and administered another small dosage of sedative. "You think yer Canuck was the only one they ever experimented on? You think I wouldn't want to know about myself? I didn't go through his files--they were gone. So were mine, and anyone else who escaped." He paused, then smirked at the confusion across all four faces. "You think everything's about you, don't you? I ain't working for Mags no more--unless you really piss me off, I don't give a shit about you--"

If he was going to say anything more it was cut off as Scott motioned for Hank to up the sedatives. Creed yawned and drifted back into unconsciousness. The four of them in the control room looked around and each other and Cecilia finally asked what they were thinking. "So, what now?"

Silence reigned for another few moments, then Scott spoke. "We're keeping him here," he said with all the authority he could muster. "The Clarice he mentioned, she's like his protegee but she's only a kid. She needs a proper home and education. Friends her own age, that sort of thing. When she comes to get him back we'll convince her to stay. But for now--" He looked pointedly at the two doctors who glanced at each other before returning his gaze. "I know you two haven't eaten lunch. Take Theresa back upstairs with you, introduce her to people. I'll keep an eye out down here." They gratefully accepted and Scott watched as the three of them left the room, Hank's arm slipping around Cecilia's slender waist as she briefly rested her head on his shoulder. That reminded Scott--he was going to have to talk to Cecilia later. If she even thought about hurting Henry McCoy . . .

~~~

A/N: Ideas for mansion lay-out were borrowed from Left Turn At Westchester.


	7. Chapter 7

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Chapter 7  
~~~

For Theresa, the second lunch of the day passed both quickly and smoothly. She only got a soda for herself while Hank and Cecilia dove headfirst into the meal. Cecilia had heated up a whole plate-full of taquitos in the microwave while Hank looked like he was trying to eat his own body weight in sandwiches. The three of them chatted amiably about nothing of much importance. Cecilia seemed more than slightly relieved to finally have another grown woman in the house after two weeks of trying to handle the entire female student body by herself. They were almost through with their lunch when someone else approached their table, a tall blond man with a smile on his face and a plate in his hands.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rankin," Hank greeted him. "What brings you down so late?"

The smile grew a bit. "Please, Henry, call me Calvin. Mr. Rankin is my father." He sat down with them on the other side of Theresa, setting down his sandwich and soda. "I had some errands to run and they took me longer than I had expected. Didn't get a chance to eat while I was out so believe me when I say that I am famished!" He took a big bite of his sandwich, obviously enjoying it immensely. After swallowing, he turned to Theresa, an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm very sorry, I just sat right down without even bothering to introduce myself. I'm Calvin Rankin, one of the new ones around here. And you are?"

Theresa allowed herself to return the smile. Something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, something very small but it was there. His cheeriness seemed forced, like there was something bothering him. Like something had happened that he would rather keep to himself. "Looks like I've got ye beat on the newbie scale," she told him, watching as he laughed. The other two at the table were each listening but only with half an ear as they were already absorbed in a conversation of their own. "I'm Theresa Cassidy, but death tae he who tries tae call me 'Miss Cassidy'."

Calvin laughed again. "A sense of humor is always a good thing to have around." His smile widened further and he tousled his own hair with one hand as his gaze shifted over to where the doctors sat, engaged in some deep discussion. "They've certainly hit it off well. Wonder what they're talking about." Theresa shrugged, unable to say anything because of the soda in her mouth. "Ah well. So you're going to be teaching, I guess?" She nodded. "What subject?"

"Art," she replied. "Drawing and painting mainly, that's what I know best, but there may be some ceramics. And ye?"

"All subjects, but just for the little kids. Math, Social Studies, that sort. But," he leaned in a bit, lowering his voice. "Power-wise what do you do?"

Theresa smiled. "Same as me Pa--sonic scream. Sound waves."

His eyes went wide. "I may have to chat you up for a bit longer, then." She looked confused, so he explained. "That's my power, I can copy others. Takes an hour to really do it and even then what I have is only half as powerful as the original, but it's still really useful thing to have. I can keep up to five at once. Who's in my cache right now, hmm?" He paused, looking off into space and counting off on his fingers. "Let's see--Hank agility. Cecilia's force field. The professor's telepathy. Piotr--one of the students--got his steel form and strength. And I always keep one slot open for emergencies." He smiled at her and she managed a smile back. "But sound waves, man, sound waves? With enough power you could be a flier!"

A scuffing of chairs against the floor distracted her before she could reply. Hank and Cecilia were in the process of taking their dishes to the kitchen. They returned only moments later--that meant there hadn't been any repeat of the medlab incident, Theresa noted with a smirk. Hank smiled as he spoke, a genuine smile. "You have seen the interior of the building I trust?" She nodded. "Cecilia and I were just planning a stroll outside, if you wish to accompany us, we would be able to give you a full tour of the grounds."

She nodded once again. "Oh, aye. I would like that."

Hank returned the gesture. "Then shall we be off?"

"It was nice meeting you, Theresa," Calvin called from the table as she left. She waved good-bye, then followed out the door.

~~~

The strategist's mind never slept. Scott was already mentally going over the layout of the mansion, trying to decide how to defend it best. What made it all the more difficult was not knowing how his adversary thought--he was loath to think of a teenage girl as his enemy. But she was against him and his team and she was a danger to the mansion so he needed a plan of protection from her. He had no idea how her train of thought would go, where she would turn up, when she would attack, or how or with what. Was she going to demand to have Creed back or was she just going to barge in, figurative guns blazing, and take him.

*Blink*

__

Or not so figurative. Scott spun in a slow circle to come face-to-face with a gun. A slightly trembling gun, but a gun nonetheless held by the exact person he was expecting. She had both her long-fingered hands wrapped around the handle of the gun but they weren't there to keep it steady. She wasn't trembling with fright or even nervousness. Her stark white eyes were light brightly with pure rage. Even from across the medlab he could see that she had the safety off and he had just heard her cock the gun. Behind her the remains of a glowing portal were swiftly disappearing. The girl was fast and dangerous--this was going to be tricky. He had to deal as calmly as he could.

Scott smiled, putting as much warmth into the gesture as he could manage. He did not move from where he stood. Instead he stayed facing her, his feet firmly planted. "Good afternoon, Clarice," he told her, avoiding the Hannible Lector-like phrase that had first popped to mind. "You found us very quickly--good job on that. Let me guess. I'm the first one you found that you recognized." He realized he was patronizing the girl with the gun and shifted tactics. "Look--"

"--Shut up." Clarice cut him off with a hissed command, shifting her grip on the gun. "Don't give me any excuses, you murdering fuck." Some of Creed's worse qualities had obviously rubbed off on her. "I don't want to hear any--not from you, not from the rest of your band of butchers. You didn't give me any excuses when you killed Mort and I'm not going to take any now that you've killed Creed."

Wait, she thought Creed was dead? Was it even possible to kill Creed? Well, then again she had just seen him fall and not get up. It was reasonable that she could think he was dead. But who was Mort? Mort . . . Mortimer . . . Toad. That's who she was talking about. If she was with Creed while he was with the Brotherhood then she would have known Toad--Mort. God, all these things he hadn't thought of. But he had to address the most pressing issue first. "Creed's not dead," he told her emphatically.

But Clarice wasn't buying it. "One more lie and I swear I'll shoot you."

"And I swear I'll duck before you even pull the trigger. Just listen to me--"

"You want me to believe you? Fine. Show me where he is."

Scott didn't let his relief show in his smile. "Good, glad you're listening. Now if you'll just follow me." He turned towards the side room that held Creed, showing Clarice that he trusted her not to shoot him in the back. Winning her over to the school was going to be much more difficult than he had originally planned--he hadn't counted on the death of Mort. He would have to talk to Ororo about . . . no, he couldn't, could he? Fighting back a frown he opened the door, then heard Clarice's sharp intake of breath from behind him.

"What the fuck have you done to him?" she breathed, looking wild-eyed at the unconscious Creed. "Whatever it is you'd better undo it right now or so help me God I'll shoot you. If you've harmed one hair on this man's head I'll shoot the blue one. And then I get the weather-bitch that killed Mort and anyone who tries to stop me." That was more easily said than done, Scott knew. Ororo wasn't even in the mansion any more--and Cecilia and her force field weren't letting a crazy girl with a gun near Hank any time soon.

But right now he had to think fast to save his own skin. "Calm down for a little while, please. He's just sleeping. There's nothing wrong with him, I promise. Give me a few minutes--that's how long it will take for me to wake him up." Scott had been watching Clarice very carefully this whole time and had come to one, solid conclusion--she as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. Learning Creed was alive had taken some of the fight out of her and she obviously wasn't used to threatening anyone, much less threatening anyone with a gun. She probably wasn't used to combat either, but he had no doubt she could hold her own and shoot as well as anyone twice her age. Having a mentor like Creed would make sure of that. Scott edged closer to the controls she stood by, careful not to make her jumpier than before. If he just reached out towards the dial like so, and then feinted like so, he could grab the gun like--

Clarice jerked backwards with a start in a full-fledged panic. She hadn't expected him to lunge forward like that but had expected even less that the gun would go off. Involuntary reaction, really! She had thought he was trying to attack her. She was just defending herself. She was, she was . . . she was getting the hell out of here, that's what she was doing. At her command a portal opened through the glass and she edged through it--away from Scott. He wasn't dead, wasn't near dead, he had twisted out of most of the way and the gun wasn't even aimed at his heart in the first place. The bullet had lodged itself in his left shoulder and he sat on the ground, holding the wound with his good hand. "Oh shit," Clarice hissed, backing through the portal. Once on the other side she used one of her teleportation darts to take both her and Creed back home. He could wake up there, she decided.

Meanwhile Scott groped for his communicator. Why hadn't he called someone--the professor!--before it all got ugly? Self-importance, that's why. He wanted to prove that he could handle it himself. What a swell job he did. Just one mental call to the professor could have avoided this whole mess. Charles would have held her where she stood, been able to get through to her and really talk to her. Would have sorted this all out but no, Scott had gone and made an utter ass out of himself trying to show that he was the big man on campus. Still berating himself, he picked up the communicator and sent out a general call. "Kurt, Hank, Cecilia, Calvin! Come in, someone."

"Ah, I'm here." Theresa's voice was the first to come back to him. "As for Hank and Cecilia, they're slightly . . . gone?"

"Gone! Gone where? We're got more than a bit of a situation in the medlab."

"Oh, aye. We've got one too."

~~~ Earlier ~~~

Most of the grounds tour went ver smoothly. There was the boathouse, the lake, playing fields basketball courts, and row upon row of gardens. Lining one edge of the property was a fairly dense forest. Hank, Cecilia, and Theresa were just going to skirt around it but unfamiliar voices coming from inside made them want to investigate. And so they did.

There they found Calvin, speaking with a man fairly unknown to them and as soon as each group spotted the other, all hell broke loose. Hank was shouting something about a Sinister and Calvin plying double agent while Calvin himself proceeded to use their own powers against them. Theresa knew she could knock out both adversaries but no more than a scream but that would involve taking down her two teammates as well. So she tried sticking to her fists, but a blast of power from the one called Sinister sent her flying headlong out of the fray. Stunned, she could watch from where she lay on the ground as it all unfolded.

Sinister and Calvin weren't aiming to kill, only to capture and that was probably the sole reason the other two survived. Hank was the first to fall--a steel-armed blow to the back of the head laid him out quickly and cleanly. Cecilia's force field made her a bit more of a problem but Sinister had not come unprepared. Her field reacted to kinetic energy but gas passed easily through and soon she lay crumpled on the ground beside Hank. Seeming to have forgotten about the half-conscious redhead behind him, Sinister gathered up his crony and his prisoners and completely disappeared. Theresa was slowly forcing herself to her feet, massaging the spot where she had hit her head, when a fallen communicator began to beep loudly.

Scott was silent as she fed him all this information as quickly as she could. So Calvin had been in cahoots with the latest villain--he should have gotten a more thorough mind-sweep. Damn the professor's ethics! There was a time and a place for that and hiring wasn't it. Now he was wounded, Theresa was wounded, Calvin was playing for the other team, and Cecilia and Hank had been captured by God only knew who. That left Kurt and Logan as active faculty. "Things aren't usually this hectic around here," he told her, trying not to sound defeated. "But we're going to need help with this." 

But whose help? To deal with the problems of here and now they needed medical experience but both their doctors were gone. There was one student who had been training with Hank--Paige Guthrie, but she was only a junior and knew just the medical basics. That would have to be enough for now. As for a rescue team? Between Kurt and the Blackbird they had transportation. Charles was the most powerful telepath in the world, he could locate their missing teammates and any possible help. Logan was brute force, and Bobby and John had been training hard with their respective powers. If Theresa had a good handle on her powers she could operate stealth, and they could enlist Kitty Pryde on that as well. "Unless we get a flood of trustworthy staff in the next twenty-four hours," he admitted, "We're going to have to use some of the older students to pull through this."


	8. Chapter 8

~~~  
Chapter 8  
~~~

Nathaniel Essex knew his day was looking up. It hadn't started out that way but it was steadily getting better. Having to travel to the Xavier Estate in person had been neither the highlight of the afternoon nor the greatest of ideas--and trusting that Rankin idiot had been an even worse one. There was big news, he had said. Too big for of any type of communications. Calvin hadn't actually betrayed him--he was too smart to try that--but the man did need to be taught what was important and what was not. It was a lesson--Essex smirked as he heard the screams--he was learning right now. Calvin would be released soon. After all, he had played a big part in why Nathaniel's day was so bright. Having new genetic material to research and catalogue and play with would make even the bleakest day bright. And it wasn't just one person's either. Oh no, there were two of them. 

The blue one--Henry McCoy--wasn't all that useful, at least by genetic standards. Essex already had a small sample from him from his first tangle with the students of Xavier and physical mutations were easily come by anyway. Agility and strength as a combination were slightly more difficult to find, but McCoy was more useful to him as a person than genetic fodder. He was one of the original students of Xavier and, if it ever came to it, the ideal bait. 

It was the other one, however, --the woman, Cecilia Reyes--that really piqued Nathaniel's interest. Force fields were a very rare mutation. According to his records, the most thorough and detailed in the entire world, there hadn't been a force field wielder in over a decade--since Unus died in the eighties. And Nathaniel had never been able to get his hands on Unus, not even for a DNA sample, and that made having Cecilia in his possession all the more special. A mutation like this, new and unexplored, the possibilities were incredible. There was so much this woman could do if she ever dared delve deep into her potential--and it was a potential he was more than happy to help her obtain. 

At the moment she was still unconscious, and would remain so until he chose otherwise. The last thing he wanted was a patient up and moving around while he was trying to work. Her cells, her genes, her DNA--it was all right there, like an open book to him. He could read it and he could write it, changing it as he wished. While he lacked the knowledge and tools necessary to create an entire person from scratch, once he had a person to work with there was no limit to what he could do. His computers monitored her as he worked but it was the scanners--of his own invention, mind you--that really administered the changes he made. Head to toe on her it ran and, as he entered his information and his will altered her genetic structure as it went. The process was painfully slow. A single scan down the body could take an hour, if not more. Altering genetic makeup was no quick job; it required the absolute precision only a laser could obtain. A change in the wrong place could have disastrous results, but a tweak here would enhance her power levels. A . . . that was new. Expected, but new. He was used to finding that little bit that made it different each time he worked with a mutation, and now he had found it for this one. What it did he was not completely sure, but the geneticist wasn't above a stab in the dark. And whatever he did could always be undone. It would take more time, but it could be undone. 

At the sound of a sharp crack, Essex whirled around. His latest specimen was still unconscious but she no longer lay on the table. Rather she lay above it, surrounded on all sides by a glowing layer of light. The crack had been her restraints snapping as her force field expanded through them. Nothing Essex tried on the computer could fix this. Nothing, not even the highest power beam, could get through the field to work. He almost began to swear but then realized that there was, in fact, a solution. It would just take time. Once the woman woke up she would get her field back under control and back down herself, and then he was back in business. The sedatives would wear off and then all would be good. Nathaniel called in one of his employees, a surly young woman who fancied to call herself Domino, to take Cecilia back to the cells. Yes, it was only a matter of time and time was something he had. 

~~~ 

Scott gathered what remained of his team and instructed them to meet in his office. Along with them he brought three of the older, more trusted students. Those that had the most control over their gifts and could be the most helpful to their cause. One of these was young Paige Guthrie. The metamorph was the closest thing to a doctor they had around, and she had a level head on her shoulders. That was something Scott had been grateful for as she treated his shoulder without question. Bobby Drake was another he had to enlist. Despite all appearances to the contrary, the kid was able to keep his cool under pressure and hold his own in a fight. His long-distance power capabilities would be useful as well. The last of the students Scott picked was their resident technological genius, Kitty Pryde. On the surface she was an ordinary, shallow ditz but she could always tell when it was time to be serious. Also, her skills in phasing, computers, and strategy were too good to pass up. The team was completely by Logan, Kurt, and Theresa--the last still holding the remnants of an ice pack to her skull. Scott waited silently for them to all file in and find a spot to sit before he spoke. "I have quite a lot to tell the six of you," he started. "And I would appreciate it if all questions could be held until I'm finished, otherwise I may not be able to get it all out and time is of the essence. Is that understood?" Silent nods all around, and so he began. 

"First things first. Kitty, Paige, Bobby--this is Miss Cassidy. Theresa. She's new, as if you couldn't tell, and she'll be joining us as both a team member and a teacher. While we're in the field you may call her Siryn. Logan may be new to you as well, he was here a few months ago but only for a couple of days. He will be known as Wolverine. Mr. Wagner, Kurt, is Nightcrawler and I am Cyclops. I've heard the three of you tossing around names for yourselves--Shadowcat, Husk, and Iceman, correct? Once we decide on a course of action and leave the school grounds these are the names we will go by. The Xavier School has not yet been connected with the X-Men and I'd like to keep it that way. 

"Now we all need to know what each other can do. My optic blasts are common knowledge. My visor controls them. Kurt is a teleporter, with some limitations. Carrying one or two extra people is a strain, and also restricts his range. Logan has a very rapid healing factor, faster than even Sarah's. He also has a metal skeleton and three claws in each hand. Theresa has sound-related powers, a sonic scream if you will. How exactly she uses it I'll leave to her to explain. Kitty can phase, that is allow the molecules of her body to pass through the molecules of something else. Phasing through electronics causes a disruption in the signals. Phasing someone else is something she's working on. Paige is a metamorph; she changes form by tearing away the husk of the old one. She can become any material imaginable, although anything heavier than steel is a struggle. Bobby can create ice and water out of the moisture in the air, and can manipulate it any way he chooses. Shields, slides, projectiles, and the like. 

"On to current events around here. As Kurt, Logan, and Theresa know, we had Sabretooth in the building earlier this afternoon. He was heavily sedated and a threat to no one--we just had some information we needed from him. He escaped, however, when a friend of his broke him out through teleportation. I was shot in the process, an accident, a misunderstanding between me and his friend. I doubt they'll be back, but if any one sees him I need you to find me immediately. Sees him or his friend--a girl not much younger than you three. You'll recognize her as not from here, she had pink skin, red hair, and white eyes. Around sixteen or so. Keep an eye out for those too, and spread the message around to John, Rogue, Jubilee, Sydney and Piotr. Keep information about Sabretooth away from the younger children, though. I don't want them to be worked up when they're perfectly safe here. 

"And now the most important business of the afternoon. A man by the name of Dr. Nathaniel Essex has come up again. Kitty, Paige, Bobby--I doubt you three have heard of him, as Kurt is the only one in this room who would remember him. Dr. McCoy and Miss Monroe were here at the time as well. This was a bit less than fifteen years ago, when the school was first established. Dr. Essex was a world-renowned geneticist but no one could figure out how he knew what he knew. Then he started coming around here, granting full scholarships to his own school to anyone who would take them. He had everything in order, he contacted parents, he put together files, he had it all planned out. Within a month we were getting phone calls from distraught mothers and fathers wondering why their children hadn't contacted them. We investigated--and after much searching discovered that there was no school. He was using the children as live specimens to research and experiment on. We got the kids back, shut him down, and humiliated him in front of the world. By 'we', I mean Kurt, Henry, Ororo and their fellow students and teachers--Dani Moonstar, Jonothan Starsmore, Shiro Yashida, Tessa Niles, Neal Sharra, and Davis Cameron. 

"Essex--or Sinister, as he seems to have deemed himself--has returned. Calvin Rankin, whom you knew, was in fact a spy sent by him to infiltrate the school and report back what he found. Dr. McCoy, Dr. Reyes, and Miss Cassidy stumbled across this and when Essex fled the scene he took our two doctors with him. We don't know where his base is. We don't know who he has working for him. About all we do know is that they were taken about forty-eight minutes ago. 

"So tell me, team, what do we do?" 

~~~ 

Hank had no idea how long he's been sitting here. Hours, it'd seemed. He'd woken up in this place with a horrible throbbing in the back of his skull and lain still for several minutes before he'd been able to finally get up. It was an immaculately clean place, he noted, a cell but still very clean. None of that dank and dreary stuff the movies tried to show. No, the whole thing was as sterile as a hospital room--and about that aesthetically pleasing. A shelf-like bed, glaring artificial lights, a commode in the corner. No window. The entire front wall of the cell was open, and criss-crossed with glowing red beams that served as bars. What their effect would be if he touched them was unknown to him, but not something he wanted to find out. There was no gap big enough for a cat to fit through, much less him. 

But he could see out. 

Sounds began to echo down the hall and Hank sprang immediately to see what was happening. From where he stood he could peer out and see three figures advancing towards him. As they came closer he could more clearly make out their forms. One was a man, dressed from head to toe in a red and black bodysuit. The other was a woman, dark-haired and with some sort of black marking around one eye. The third figure, the one being dragged along by the first two, was still indiscernible as it was completely encased in a yellow glow. Yellow glow. Hank began to process that information. A yellow glow could only mean one person he could think of. 

And indeed it was. As they neared even further Hank could see through the glow and to the person. Cecilia's eyes were closed, her head dropping forward, her long braids trailing limply over her shoulders. Her arms were slung over the shoulders of her carriers and her feet dragged loosely behind her. She was quite obviously unconscious. The trio headed towards him, then stopped, and the man reached to unlock the cell across the corridor. "No, wait!" Hank called to him. 

The three turned as a unit. The man was the one to speak. "Yes?" 

"You can put her in here, with me," Hank continued, pointing behind him to his own cell. "We take up that much less space that way. More simple to deal with." They didn't seem to care. Clean up was probably the job of some other unfortunate lackey. "And . . . and I wish to be here for her, when she awakens." Still no reaction. They were going to make him say it. "Please?" There, the last of his dignity, gone. But for Cecilia, he would do anything. 

This time it was the woman who spoke. She turned to her partner, a wicked smirk on her face. "Well, Wade, what do you think?" He merely shrugged, his expression impassive and unreadable beneath his mask. "It'll piss off Essex, and that's enough for me." She hefted Cecilia's arm further onto her shoulders as she worked to get a better grip. The force field did not was to be held on to. "So you sit in the back and don't turn around until you hear the door shut. You get your way, ugly, and we get to hear her scream when she wakes up." 

Hank bit back an equally nasty comment, deciding that it was better to play along for now. As long as he didn't act out they wouldn't take Cecilia. Wouldn't try to take her--while he was around they weren't going to lay another finger on her. He heard a dull thud and immediately spun around, barely noticing as the door slammed shut and a key twisted cruelly in the lock. Cecilia lay crumpled on the floor, on her side with one arm stretched out under her head and the other slumped over her body. Her eyes were closed and her face was bare as her glasses rattled around on the inside of her force field somewhere near her feet. Hank found himself wondering trivial things like when they had fallen off, then realized he should concentrate on the bigger problems. Like what had happened. What was wrong. He had never seen her with her field up like this--but she had told him about a time when something like this had happened. When her force field first emerged it had been uncontrollable, always up, and certainly not a pleasant experience. He doubted now would be any different so he might as well make her as comfortable as possible. Hank leaned down to pick her up, cradling her gently against him and setting her down on the makeshift bed. The pillow he pushed beneath her head to keep her neck level and, even through it would do no good neither would it do harm, he covered her with the blanket. The force field was still very much alive, glowing on all sides and pushing everything away. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Hank sat down on the ground by her head, his back against the wall, and waited for her to wake up. 

~~~ 

It wouldn't be too much longer now. 

Nathaniel watched the screen closely, observing the entire situation through the eyes of his security cameras. Ordinarily he would have punished Domino and Deadpool for putting two prisoners together like that. Separation was good--it kept plans for escape from happing. However, even if Reyes felt no compulsion to fix her current problem, McCoy was certain to urge her to try. Make things move much more quickly, that would, and then he could get back to business. 

By now the X-Men would have figured it out. Essex had never felt more like an idiot than when he realized he he'd left the redhead behind and it was too late to go back and nab her. She'd have told the whole story of course, and he didn't even know who she was. Well, he hadn't at the time but now he did. Her name was Theresa Cassidy. She was the twenty-seven-year old daughter of the widower Sean Cassidy. Their powers were identical; both possessing something nicknames a sonic scream. She had just arrived at the mansion, as Calvin knew nothing save her name and her ability. 

Ah, Calvin. The man was off nursing his wounds somewhere. The infiltration of the mansion had been a stroke of genius. The X-Men had never gone up against Calvin Rankin, they had never heard of Calvin Rankin. He was the ideal spy. All Essex had needed was a way to get past the telepaths, and that required another telepath. He had gone through all his records to find one and come up severely lacking. Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, and Betsy Braddock were already affiliated with the mansion. Emma Frost was long since employed by the government. Dani Moonstar and Jason Wyngarde were both merely illusionists, and both had ties to Xavier. Essex was running dangerously low on options when by chance he ran across an uncatalogued stowaway from Egypt, a young man who called himself Amahl Farouk. The defenses he created inside Calvin's mind had been so incredible because they were not really defenses at all. If anyone tried to probe Calvin's brain, the thoughts they found would be so utterly mundane that they wouldn't bother to check any deeper, deeming it unnecessary. Until Calvin's little screw-up, it had worked perfectly. Still, with just a few changes here and there Essex would get what he wanted. 

He always did. 


	9. Chapter 9

~~~  
Chapter 9  
~~~

_>Madre de dios,qué me sucedía? Dónde estoy? Y . . . por que? Cómo? Ay, ay, ay . . ._

Cecilia opened her eyes to the biggest headache she had ever known. It throbbed behind her forehead, pounding at her skull fit to burst. Like someone was taking a sledgehammer to her brain. Glaring lights only made it worse and forced her to shut her eyes again quickly. A low moan escaped her as she rolled onto her side, pushing her face deep into her mattress. Or trying to. Something wasn't working right. 

The headache was now a thing of the past. Cecilia moved quickly, twisting over further and pushing her torso up with her hands. She fully expected to feel soft, warm mattress under her palms but instead she felt . . . nothing. Not nothing, but just air. Her hands were floating as was the rest of her, her entire body suspended and surrounded by a glow she knew all too well. Through the beginnings of panic, she watched as Hank got to his feet from where he had been sitting. Now he knelt there near her, bringing himself down to eye level. "Hey there," he said softly, sweetly, his normally blue face green to her eyes. "Glad to see you're finally awake." His kindly smile begged to reassure her and that in itself was disconcerting. If she needed to be reassured, something was definitely wrong. 

"McCoy," she said, warning. "Where are we? What's going on? Why--" 

"One question at a time," he cut her off as gently as he could. "We were--for lack of a better word--kidnapped by a man named Nathaniel Essex. You do remember that?" Eyes wide, she nodded slowly. "Our exact whereabouts are unknown to me but I assume he has taken us within his stronghold." He watched as she blinked several times, then rubbed at her eyes as if trying to clear something up. "Your glasses," he informed her kindly, "Are somewhere around your feet. I believe they fell off as you were brought here." 

Cecilia looked over, then sighed softly and grabbed for her glasses. The one thing the force field would let through was itself, which meant that she didn't have to go awkwardly fishing for her glasses. Instead she could reach for them as normal. Another sigh escaping her, she slid them onto her face and brought the world back into focus. Everything she saw, however, was still colored yellow. Cecilia reached into her mind for the mental switch that would shut the field off. Nothing. "Henry," she said, panic beginning to rise in her voice as she tried it again and again with no more success. "My field. What's going on?" 

It was at this point that Hank really realized--this was not good. "I was hoping you could tell me." 

"Oh God." The words left her mouth in a rush of air. Once more Cecilia groped with her mind for that trigger, that special something that had always shut it off but that trigger was locked up. IT was locked up in such a way that said it didn't want to be unlocked--it was quite happy where it was, thankyouverymuch. Cecilia beat mental fists against it, biting back very real tears. "Oh God," she repeated as she tried and failed and tried again. "Hank, Hank it's not working! It's stuck, it's, it's . . ." She seemed to collapse inwardly on herself, bringing her legs up and under her and letting her chin fall to her chest. She felt like she was twelve again and curled up on her bed, panicked and confused and feeling so incredibly lost she thought she'd never been found again. Only now she was twenty-seven and locked away in a strange place far from home of anything even remotely familiar. The real feeling was still the same though. She was trapped in her own little world, cut off and isolated away from any and all she cared about. All alone in her own sphere of protection. 

By this time Hank really knew for absolute sure that this was not good. Whatever Essex had done had set Cecilia back past the point that she could control her force field, back to where she would have to start all over again. A process-- she had told him--that had spanned a week without food or drink or comfort. Those types of things were difficult to pass through a force field. He pulled himself up to sit beside her on the shelf and used one arm to hold her gently against him, a silent way of saying 'I'm here. I may be outside, but you're not along.' He didn't know what to say aloud to soothe her but there was one piece of information that was imperative to get across. "For now, I would leave it up," he advised her in a comforting tone. "Because as long as it's up, Essex can't touch you." 

Cecilia tucked herself further against him, resting her head against his chest as best she could. It wasn't working very well. The force and pressure of weight was still there, she could still feel that. It was the real sense of touch that evaded her. The softness of his fur, the warmth that radiated from him--it was all alien to her now. Everything she had taken for granted was gone and she had the sinking feeling she would never see it again. "But for how long?" she whispered, eyes closed. The pessimistic side she had always used as a shield from the world was slamming back into place. "How long are we going to be here?" 

Here, Hank had a better answer. "Theresa was with us when we found Dr. Essex, but she's not with us here. That means she's still at the mansion and by now they all know what happened. They'll be here within the day," he assured her. "Or we'll find our own way out. We're both doctors, both intelligent people. Between your invulnerability and my strength, there's no place out there that could hold up for long. And certainly not one like this." 

"Promise?" Her voice almost begged. 

Hank didn't even hesitate with his answer. "Promise." 

~~~ 

Nathaniel Essex had always prided himself on being a gentleman. He was always polite, never forgot his manners. In his presence everyone was Sir or Madam. On the off chance he entertained company, he always opened doors and pull out chairs. The best of everything was saved for his guests and he only ever associated with the highest of society. He dressed sharply from a closet full of suits, his speech was clipped and well mannered, and he never, ever swore. 

"Shit." 

Except on very rare occasions. Essex let one expletive slip then bit his tongue to dam up the rest back. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cool glass of the computer monitor. He had been watching the scene in his cells unfold through security cameras and this was definitely not good. Even though he had not been able to hear what they were saying-- his prisoners insisted on whispering--the facial expression and body language had spoken loud enough. The damage he had wrought could not be undone. This was . . . this had to be dealt with personally. 

Essex stalked out of his laboratory, fuming, and headed towards the downstairs. Everyone jumped out of his way--they had all been at the receiving end of his rage on too many occasions to dare bring his wrath down upon themselves now. He stormed through the halls, his footsteps echoing off of the steel, sterile walls as he went. Metal heels clicked sharply against the floor and his long stride had a definite forward purpose to it. His destination was the downstairs cells, where he would confront this little problem himself. 

His two prisoners had quite obviously heard his approach. They had not moved from where they sat on the shelf, but their stances were defiant rather than defensive. No longer were they holding onto each other. Now they sat apart, each prepared and ready to hold his own. They were brave creatures--Essex had to give them that much. Brave and stupid. He always got what he wanted, and these two were not about to change that. Still, once a gentleman, always a gentleman. "Good --" he checked his watch, "--evening to you both. This room was initially prepared for only one person, so I'm afraid you may be rather cramped with the two of you in here. If you do require more space I would be delighted to accommodate you. One of you would simply be moved across the hall. If you are hungry I can have some dinner sent down shortly . . . Dr. McCoy, I see you have something you with so say?" Essex allowed himself one, small smile. As a rule, he was always a good host, even to the most unwilling of guests, and courtesy got him everywhere. 

Hank was bristling with anger. "What do you want with us?" he wanted to know. 

Nathaniel looked taken aback. "'Us'?" he echoed. "The two of you, you mean? My dear Dr. McCoy, I came across you both purely by chance. I didn't want anything with you, you just stumbled into this yourselves. Although, I must admit that your lovely lady companion has me quite intrigued." His voice had taken a mesmerized tone as he stared at her in rapt fascination. She really was so very interesting even though the current state of her force field had him more than slightly peeved. A challenge, however, was always appreciated. 

But Cecilia had finally found her tongue. "I am a doctor, sir," she spat between clenched teeth. "Same as you. I expect to be treated with respect." 

There was nothing feigned about Essex's surprise. From what he had witness through the eyes of his camera he had assumed Reyes to be a sniveling, defeated child. Instead he found her to be something more akin to a wry hellcat with a wicked temper. "My apologies, doctor," he replied with a bowed inclination of his head. "I meant no disrespect. It's just that your force field--" 

"Bull. Your disrespect didn't come from the current state of my force field," she informed him icily. "It came from the fact that I am a woman. Had that not been so, you would have not been so condescending towards me concerning my gender." She paused, looking up to stare him in the feel with steeled brown eyes. "Now, if you would indulge me in something--and piss off. I have bigger things to deal with than you." As she spoke she crossed her arms over her chest, chin raised in defiance and eyes glittering, just daring him to object. 

Essex smiled a thin smile. "You need only to ask, madam," he assured her. "And I shall depart. Leave you to regain what control you once had." 

"You believe I haven't done that already?" 

"I would need only gas you unconscious once more to call that bluff. You have yet to master it." 

"Your fault," she shot back. 

"Initially, yes," he conceded. "But if it is something you cannot remedy, well then the fault lies within yourself." His smile grew--she had handed him the opening he needed and it rested on the proverbial silver platter. By this point he had realized that she was both intelligent and quick-tempered and therein would lie her downfall. A challenge was something he knew she would be unable to turn down. Even moreso if he applied the correct bait to it. Thank God for thorough records. "However I expect you will not disappoint me. After all, if a little twelve-year-old could accomplish it, what's it so someone who is a full-grown woman and a doctor to boot?" 

Cecilia glared, her eyes alive with rage. Her voice fairly shook when she spoke. "The only disappointment," she informed him, cool and calculated. "Will be if I trip while tap-dancing on your grave." She slowly approached him, only stopping when her field was within an inch of the glowing red bars. Essex met her gaze evenly and they both refused to back down. "Now get the fuck out of my sight." There was no threat, at least not one spoken. Her voice carried more threat than words would ever convey. 

But Essex was not going to be beaten by a brat with a severe need of an attitude adjustment. His hand shot through the bars to cup the side of her face, or the shield that covered it. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the glowing energy pulse with life beneath his skin. Cecilia pulled away sharply and glared at him with all the hatred every cliche said she should have. "I'll leave you to your own devices," he told her almost sweetly. "But don't worry, I'll be back. I do loathe to leave my guests alone for long. Dinner will be down shortly. I regret to inform you that the menu is unknown to me but if you have any complaints, feel free to tell them to Aurora. How she will react is up to her, but you are welcome to try. Best of luck." 

Hank watched in utter amazement as Essex turned and walked away. The man had to be mad. There was no other explanation for it. There was no way he could be such a perfect gentleman villain and still be mentally stable--it just wasn't possible. Cecilia wanted nothing more than to kill the man and yet he had brushed it all aside with no more than a polite smile. He had faced off against an angry female--one of the most dangerous creatures imaginable--and escaped unscathed. Of course, that left Hank to deal with said angry female who now stood fuming at the bars and looking very capable of nothing short of impassioned homicide. 

"That unbelievable shit," she hissed furiously, her fists clenched tightly at her side. "That absolutely unbelievable shit, who the fuck does he think he is? Condescending bastard, I oughta kick his-- What!" At a touch on her shoulder Cecilia whirled around, chest heaving and eyes narrowed, to face a startled Hank. Her eyes closed slowly and, after taking a few deep breaths, her tone noticeable softened. "God, I'm sorry, Blue." She was one of the very select few that could call him that. He was sensitive about his appearance, but she treated him with neither pity nor distance about it. For her, calling him 'Blue' would be like him calling her 'Braids'. It was a fact, and not a judgement. "That sure was a stunning display of maturity, wasn't it? He played me like a freaking guitar." 

Hank took her by the glowing elbow and led here back to there shelf were they could sit, and sit they did. He gently wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. "You stood up to him when I blanked out. There are very few people capable of saying they've faced off against Nathaniel Essex. But don't trouble yourself with anything at all. We're getting out of here, remember? And then we'll be back at the mansion and Charles will help sort everything out. We'll shut down Essex and forget it all happened. Trust me on that." 

She did.


End file.
